


A weakness,

by houmei



Category: Todd Allison & the Petunia Violet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-02
Updated: 2013-09-02
Packaged: 2017-12-25 09:37:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,360
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/951554
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/houmei/pseuds/houmei
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A brief comparison between mother and son.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A weakness,

It's been two months since he's seen his mother, and two months since he's had to wear his stiff, itchy vest.

 

"Master Todd, I told you to ask me if you needed help with your tie! It's all crooked." Will pulls the knot and Todd flattens his chin over his chest to watch Will fix his tie for the second time today.

"There we are. Now, let's go see your mother."

They walk together into the main garden. This is Todd's favorite place in the whole estate, but he feels less inclined to kick off his shoes and run into the sunflower field today. He's stiffly walking through the trail with Will and when they come to the central resting area, he sees her. His mother is dressed in deep purples and magenta, with little ribbons and frills and knots that zigzag across her back. He thinks she looks so very out of place amongst the flowers. She's _pale_ , so pale against her small dress it's no wonder she has an umbrella open even on an overcast day such as this. She's talking to a maid when she spots them and Will clamps an encouraging hand on Todd's shoulder.

"Todd." Todd comes closer and thinks his mother might be suffocating under the shade of the umbrella, and if he had been a better boy he would have wretched it from her hands and exposed her to the light. Then maybe she would become a little stronger, or healthier and she'd stop wilting and bloom like the rest of the flowers here. But she reaches out and holds his hands and she's so frail. Her red burnt hair frames her pale face like a doll's and Todd resists counting the freckles on her cheeks. "Will told me all about the flowers you helped him plant. You're a very good boy." She even speaks softly, and if this had been any other person Todd would have asked for her to speak louder. But he doesn't ask her this. He doesn't ask anything of her, and wishes she'd let go of his hands so he can run off deeper into the garden and check on the newly planted fig tree.

—

"Your mother isn't sick." Will explains one night, after tending to Todd during his bath and teeth brushing, then settling him to bed with two pillows to rest on his head- a third for extra. He talks slow and leading, as to not let Todd feel discouragement when he explains that she isn't like him, or he isn't like her. He's not sure if Todd would be glad for this, but he'll still try his hardest to not let those feelings touch Todd. "She's just very delicate. The Madam has always been very light on her feet, it's normal for young girls to look that way." He tries to ease onto words that don't seem like lily pads on still water, but more like icebergs partially submerged into the sea. He treads quickly through them doesn't want to have to explain again the complexities of ladies and his lack of experience in.

"So Mother _is_ young," Todd might as well understand, what with the way he nods in his quiet affirmation and patience, in a way that lets Will know that he doesn't need to know everything yet. It baffles him, how inquisitive Master Todd is at times.

"Yes, she is. Ah, but- despite that you still must listen to what she says."

"I know that..." Todd sinks deeper into his pillows and lies flat on his back. Will doesn't quite know how comfortable he is, sleeping that way. "Don't tell her I said this, Will, but. I don't think Mother likes me very much."

Will's face softens, although Todd can't see it in the light flickering behind the lamp. "Master Todd, your mother loves you. It's been a while since you've seen her, and you both have so much catching up to do. You could think of it this way," Will knows he shouldn't be saying this- but somehow, he also knows he passed the boundaries of care taker and father many years ago. "She's delicate with her words too. Many people are."

"Really?" Sleep is catching up to Todd, but he forces his eyes open long enough to ask. "I'm not like that, am I, Will?"

Will's quiet laughter follows Todd into his dreams. "Certainly not, Master Todd."

—

Todd Allison once thought many years ago, before his family had set the foundation for their outdoor winery and cleared land for another study hall, that he would never in his life be anything like this father.

Todd is a little more sensible now and thinks he is like his father, but still promises somewhere to himself, somewhere that still matters, that he'll be nothing like his father. Todd could handle attitudes and god knows he could handle temperaments, especially those that came from his father and his many casual scathing quips. Despite how off handle his own temper seemed, Todd liked to think he actually had excellent control over his directed anger. Where as his father could make a whole room feel chilly by just the thinning of his smile, Todd could make one person feel small and shrinking by just giving them a certain stare.

So, he isn't like his father, despite having many of the unadmirable traits. Not physically, perhaps. But mentally, he did adopt those defensive mannerisms. They were effective and made him a sharper person. Todd someday will examine the layers to himself and find there isn't as many as he'd like, and not nearly as many that belong to himself. His anger and his weaknesses- they belong to him, at least. _I'm not weak._ Years and years of avoiding the casting shadows of his father, absorbing the light of the sun and sprouting from crouching in bushes to climbing trees. Years of laughing alongside Will and simply growing into a man he hoped would be like him.

Todd Allison is not weak, but he reminisces and remembers the shade his mother sat in amongst the crowd of colors and light. Not moving, not growing- but not still enough to look at her son and smile.

He looks around in his apartment and finds assortment of plants comforting, if not vital. He knows in some ways he is like her, but not in the fashion that would call upon the word 'weak.' At one point they were both young, both silently basking in the distance that passed between them and the briefness of their time together.

 

Todd does not unveil weakness when he misses her, but simply sheds and exposes a part of him he knows has always been.

—

"Mr. Allison is very-" Locke intakes some breath and considers his next word carefully, despite the company around him which does not consist of Todd Allison. "...susceptible."

"Susceptible?" A hard scoff. "To what, might I ask?"

"I don't know anything about that! I meant, his...body. His physique. He has a susceptible body type."

"I think what Locke is trying to say here is Mr. Allison tends to look a little...delicate, sometimes. That's a good word for it, right? Delicate?"

"Oh, yes. Delicate is on the very top of my list of words that would describe Todd Allison. You are speaking of _that_ Todd Allison aren't you, Bentham?"

"Well, it's better than what you were spouting earlier! I'd consider that pretty rude!"

"I said he was flimsy, if you would recall. Flimsy and prickly."

"I can't imagine those two words go together very well..."

"Clancey!" Bentham slides the last piece of shortbread cake over to him, as if to bribe him of his last few words. "You know Todd Allison better than any of us. How would you describe his body type, truthfull- _Augh!_ Please, don't hit me!"

"Then leave me out of this." Clancey mutters, and snaps his newspaper open again to obscure their view of him. "And don't let Mr. Allison catch you talking or you'll all be in for a world of trouble. Not that you wouldn't deserve it."

"Well, it was worth a shot..."


End file.
